It Only Takes Two Fingers if We Lift Together
by CamsthiSky
Summary: Tim wishes that he'd realized Dick was so stressed out sooner. Maybe he could have helped more.


**Anonymous asked: hc: when dick's really stressed he will literally last on an hour or two of sleep a night and neglect to eat like, real meals. i know ur as much of a sucker for dick grayson fluff as i am, i just love the idea of his sibs being like "youre so stupid how are you still alive, even tim eats power bars before patrol and catches catnaps when he's not working on something, why are you like this"**

 **Anonymous asked: _"It's okay. I'm used to it." with Dick please?_**

* * *

Tim freezes, because he'd thought he'd just heard—that's Dick's voice coming from down the hallway. Which means that Dick is still awake. At four in the morning. After rough patrol that had lasted _hours_ longer than usual.

Well, that doesn't spell anything good, Tim thinks, and he creeps down the hallway to peek into Dick's bedroom through the small crack letting soft light spill into the hallway. Tim spots Dick immediately, and he's lying on the floor, one hand covering his eyes and the other holding his phone to his ear.

 _"No,"_ Dick says vehemently, but he's really still and tense. He sounds exhausted, though, and his next words come out much softer than that first one. "No. I'm fine. Don't—No, Wally. It's okay. I'm used to it."

Dick goes silent, and Tim imagines that Wally's talking up a storm, even at four am. But then—

"Just— _chill,_ Wally," Dick says into the phone. "If you don't stop yelling at me, I'm going to hang up. And then if you still want to yell at me you'll have to find a way into the manor without Bruce finding out. So just—No. _No."_

There's a pause, and Tim thinks that he should probably start moving. This doesn't sound like a conversation he wants to be in the middle of. He's just about to creep down the hallway again towards his _original_ destination—the kitchen, where he'd accidentally left his laptop—when another bedroom door opens from behind him. Tim turns around just as Damian storms out, stomping down the hall towards Tim.

 _"What_ is going on?" Damian hisses, doing that thing where he thinks he's the boss of everything and Tim is obligated to answer him. But he looks—well. He looks kind of concerned, actually, and this is _Dick._

"He and Wally are arguing about something," Tim says, nodding towards Dick's bedroom, where Dick's conversation had turned up a couple of notches. "I don't think he's tried to sleep tonight, yet, either."

Damian shoots him a small glare, that Tim doesn't think is really meant for him. "Grayson didn't sleep last night, either. He was working on a case, he said. And he refused breakfast this morning when Pennyworth tried to serve it to him."

Tim blinks. And then he blinks again, because he can't believe it's been so long that he's forgotten this. Damian—Damian is probably new to this, Tim's guessing. Dick didn't have Bruce while he was Batman, so he'd probably tried to hide all of those bad habits he hadn't cared too much about showing Tim. Plus, when Tim had been Robin, Dick hadn't been living with Alfred full-time.

(Of course, Tim's not really one to talk about bad habits, but at least _he_ takes naps.)

"What?" Damian asks lowly, dark eyes searching Tim's face. "What do you know?"

"He—He does this sometimes," Tim says, leaning against the wall and folding his arms over his chest. This is going to take some explaining. "He gets stressed, I guess, and he stops eating and sleeping. He's been in Blüdhaven for a while, so he's probably fallen back into old habits, or whatever."

Damian's eyebrow furrow, and he looks—he looks _really_ confused, so Tim thinks he probably guessed right about Dick hiding this side of him from Damian. Well, it was either that or Alfred kept it to a minimum.

"I don't understand," Damian tells him.

Tim shrugs. "He just overworks himself, and I don't think he knows how to destress. Me and Alfred used to make him back when I was Robin."

"How," Damian demands, standing up straighter, a gleam in his eyes. "How do we make Grayson take care of himself?"

"You know I can hear you, right?" Dick says, poking his head out of his bedroom and settling his gaze on Damian. He's still got the phone to his ear, and there's some amusement sparkling in those baby blues, and a little bit in his expression, too, but there's also dark circles underneath his eyes that betray his exhaustion. Tim wonders just how long Dick's been stressing himself out if those circles are already that shadowed. And why he hadn't noticed. It looks like Dick hasn't been getting sleep for _days_.

Wally says something on the other line. Tim can hear his rushed voice, but he can't make any words. Dick rolls his eyes, though. Doesn't change the exhausted look he's sporting, but it makes Tim feel a little lighter inside, because they haven't reached the breaking point quite yet.

And the breaking point is something that Tim's only seen once before. He still has chills just at the thought of seeing his big brother basically shatter to pieces right before his eyes.

"Shut up, Wally," Dick murmurs. "I wasn't talking to you. The baby birds are up." Tim hears something like a " _So are you!"_ from Wally that's really not hard to pick out, because Wally's reached screeching levels now. Dick sighs very long-suffering like, and all he says in response is, "I'll call you back in a couple hours. Go to sleep."

And then he hangs up. Tim stares, because Dick Grayson has just hung up on his best friend. One he's known longer than probably both Tim and Damian combined.

Dick stares down Damian again. "Okay. Explanations? It's four in the morning, and I _know_ you have school in the morning, Damian."

Damian scoffs. "Your inane prattling woke me up."

Dick's expression softens, and his eyes go all mushy. "Oh. Sorry, Dami. I didn't mean to—"

"It's done," Damian cuts him off, turning away from Dick and folding his arms.

Tim gets the impression that Damian regrets being harsh, but it's hard to make that thought line up with the image he has for the kid in his head. Damian's not someone he thinks he understands, yet. Too much rage and hate in one tiny little body, and yet. When Damian looks at Dick, it's like he's seeing his whole world right before his eyes.

Tim remembers that feeling, too. Before—well. Before Damian, he guesses.

"Right," Dick says, a gentle, indulgent smile on his face, and Tim—not for the first time—wonders what the two of them went through together to be able to communicate like that. Where they realize each other's feelings without really outright saying anything.

It reminds Tim of the way he and Dick used to be, too. Of course, on some level, Tim knows that that level of trust between them is still there, but it's harder to get at now. There are issues and unresolved problems that have been ignored in the face of getting back to normal.

And neither Tim nor Dick has tried to attack those issues head on. There hasn't really been time, considering Tim had thought Dick was dead up until a couple of months ago.

"And you?" Dick asks, turning his attention to Tim, a _this better be good_ expression on his face, like he isn't the biggest hypocrite to walk the earth right now.

Yeah, Tim doesn't always sleep every night, but at least he knows (mostly) when his body needs _some_ kind of rest, and then Tim will crash. Conk out for a day or two. Dick just kind of keeps going until he falls. And even while he's falling, he'll still try to keep going at full throttle.

"I was going to get my laptop," Tim says, still leaning against the wall. "It's in the kitchen."

Dick hums. "I think Alfred confiscated it, actually. He said something about you staying up all night last night using it."

"Like you're one to talk," Tim says, and it's harsh, but this needs to be stopped in its tracks. He usually wouldn't intervene, but it doesn't look like anyone else has even noticed. Hell, up until now, _Tim_ hadn't noticed. So why would anyone else?

Although, he'd bet his skateboard that Bruce has definitely noticed and just hasn't figured out how to deal with it, yet. Cass would have probably noticed, too, if she weren't with Steph on another mission.

Damian shoots Tim a glare, and Dick's expression twists into one of reluctance. "Tim—"

"Don't you remember last time you let it get this bad?" Tim asks softly, fingers curling into his bicep. He stares at the floor, because he's not sure he can stand looking at Dick's face and mixing up his current expression with the one from his memories. "That was terrifying to watch, and I don't want it to happen again."

Dick sighs, and when Tim glances up, he's leaning against the doorframe. It's like all the resistance has left his body. He runs a hand down his face. "Sorry. I'm sorry, Tim. I'm just on edge."

"Let's watch a movie, then," Damian suggests. And Tim and Dick both immediately swing their gaze to Damian, and he shifts under the attention, but he doesn't back down. He meets Dick's gaze. "It's what calms you down, correct?"

Dick looks uncertain, though. "I guess that might work."

Damian nods. "Then I'll get Father. Drake, call Todd and tell him it's urgent." And before either Tim or Dick can make it past their surprise and protest that, Damian has already disappeared down the hallway and into Bruce's room, like it's nothing.

"Did that just happen?" Tim asks incredulously.

Dick huffs a short laugh, sounding almost in awe of the thirteen year old. The best part, Tim thinks, is that the tightness to Dick's shoulders have loosened, and he looks a little less wound up than before. It's incredible what Damian can manage sometimes when it comes to Dick. Tim doesn't think he'll ever stop being surprised.

"I think so," Dick says, and the amusement is back, too. "Better call Jason, or Dami'll get mad."

Tim makes a face. "I'm not calling Jason at four in the morning to watch a movie."

"I'll do it, then," Dick says, and then, to Tim's absolute disbelief, _he does it._ He has a full-on conversation with a barely coherent Red Hood over the phone, and Dick stays cheerful the entire time. After he hangs up, he sends Tim a grin. "Jason's on his way over."

"Good," Damian says, leading a grumpy looking Bruce down the hall towards them. "Now, we should get the theatre set up."

Dick gives Damian an easy grin and a lazy salute. "Sir, yes, sir."

Damian throws Dick a glare. "I am being serious, Grayson."

Dick's grin turns cheeky. "So was I. Lead on, Damian. You're in charge of movie—well. It's not really night anymore, so I guess you're in charge of movie morning."

Bruce grunts his approval, and they all kind of awkwardly shuffle downstairs to the home theatre and get settled. Damian and Dick argue over which Disney movie to watch, while Tim and Bruce are charged with popping popcorn. Tim knows the smell of it will probably attract Alfred, but he's not sure Alfred will really mind all that much once he hears of the circumstances.

While waiting for the popcorn, Bruce turns to Tim, looking a bit more awake now. "Care to tell me what this impromptu movie day is about?"

Tim slumps a little. "Dick's stressed. But it was Damian's idea."

Bruce hums in contemplation. "I knew about Dick, and I'm not surprised about Damian, but where do you end up in all of this."

"I heard him talking to Wally." It's easier not to look straight at Bruce, so he stares at the hand Bruce has laid on the counter next to him. "I thought it was just an argument, but he hasn't been eating or sleeping again."

Bruce lets out a heavy breath. "Tim."

"What."

"This isn't your fault."

Tim hunches his shoulders a bit. He _knows_ that Dick being on edge isn't even remotely related to him. It's probably something to do with a case or one of his friends, based on the fact that he was talking to _Wally,_ but, still, "I should have noticed sooner," Tim says. "I know he likes to pretend like nothing's wrong when he's hurting, but I still should have at least known that _something_ was off."

"You've been busy, too," Bruce says. "You can't shoulder your well-being _as well_ as Dick's. There's no possible way."

"You do it," Tim murmurs, finally looking up. "You find a way to look out for us somehow."

Bruce grimaces. "Not as well as I probably should. Besides, you're my kids, Tim. You're my sons, and there's no way I'm not going to put you above me."

"Dick puts us all above himself," Tim says, sagging into the counter.

He's exhausted. There are so many issues. This family is so _dysfunctional_ , but somehow, they seem to stay afloat. Not without weathering a few storms, though. And rough ones, at that. And Dick. Dick always seems to hold the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Tim doesn't understand how he holds that weight _and_ his family's well-being.

Maybe, Tim thinks, that's why moments like this happen. Maybe that's why Dick's so worn down, now.

"He does," Bruce agrees. "Maybe he shouldn't, but he does. And there's no stopping him."

The microwave beeps, and Tim knows that whatever that moment had been with Bruce is over now. Bruce takes the popcorn out of the microwave, and Tim goes to walk out of the kitchen, but Bruce's hand on his shoulder stops him. Bruce squeezes it, pulls, and Tim relaxes into the small hug Bruce drags him into.

"Thanks," Tim says, his voice small and soft as he pulls away. Bruce nods, and they head back into the theatre.

Tim raises his eyebrows at what he sees when he and Bruce enter. The chairs have all been pushed to the side in lieu of a nest of blankets and pillows big enough for ten people that Dick and Damian are settled into. Bruce doesn't question it, and Tim exasperatedly follows Bruce into the nest.

"When's Jason getting here?" Bruce asks as he settles on the floor next to Dick.

Dick shrugs and leans into Bruce's comfort when the man throws an arm around his son. "He wasn't too happy I called him, but he said he'd come over anyways. Though, I think his reason was because—"

"I wanna laugh at the Demon Brat's first reaction to a Disney movie," Jason cuts in, still in his leather jacket and jeans, unlike the other four, who are dressed in sweats and pajamas. He plops down in the nest next to Tim anyways. Well, Tim finds he actually doesn't mind.

Damian scowls. "I don't understand what would be 'funny' about my reaction."

Jason grins, and it's almost shark like. Predatory. "Your reaction to school was pretty damn funny, so I've taken to being there to see some of your other ones. Steph's been recording what she can."

Damian narrows his eyes. "Is that why Brown held a camera in front of my face when she took me to the shopping center?"

"Yep," Jason says, popping his 'p'. "She gave me the full footage of every reaction you had to the 'disgusting peasants.'"

"They were fishing for coins in that fountain," Damian snaps.

Jason shrugs. "Still hilarious. Especially when you went off on that security guard."

Tim chokes. "Jason—"

But Jason waves him off. "You'll have it sent to your phone after the movie, baby bird."

Tim grins. And then it melts off his face, when he realizes that the entire time Damian and Jason had been talking, Dick had been dead quiet. He glances over at his big brother—only to cough on his own laughter.

Jason blows an exasperated breath, sounding put out. "The movie hasn't even started yet. He can't seriously be asleep already."

Bruce smiles indulgently, his hand rubbing up and down a sleeping Dick's back. Dick has all but turned Bruce into his pillow at this point, and Bruce doesn't even seem to mind. "He's had a rough few days. Let him sleep."

Jason rolls his eyes, and then waves Damian over, who's on the other side of Dick, while he pulls Tim closer to him. "Come on, then. If Dick gets a people pillow, then so do I."

Tim laughs lightly, but he lets Jason pull him into what's almost a cuddle. Their arms are touching, and with Damian on Jason's other side, Tim almost gets the impression that Damian might actually like them. Tim thinks he gets halfway through the movie before he falls asleep.

Sometime later, he wakes up, and the room is quiet. The screen is dark, and Jason's deep, even breathing right next to him tells him that Mr. I Never Let My Guard Down Around Bruce Wayne has fallen asleep. He wouldn't be surprised if the tiny ex-assassin is asleep, too.

He wonders for a moment, what woke him up, but then he hears it.

"Sorry," Dick is murmuring. "I'm sorry, Bruce."

Bruce hushes Dick. "It's okay."

"It's _not,"_ Dick insists. "It's not okay at all. I don't know what I'm supposed to do now. Everything is so messed up, Bruce. I feel like I'm being pulled in so many directions and it's just—it's all messed up."

"It's not," Bruce tells Dick, and Tim's wide awake now. He makes sure to keep his breathing even and deep, just like Jason's. "It sucks, but you know that things will turn out okay."

"They _fell_ ," Dick says, but it sounds like his breath is hitching. Like he's going to cry. Tim tries not to let himself react to that observation, or Dick's words. He's not sure he succeeds. "And it never ever gets any easier. Especially—Especially when I see something like—"

"I know," Bruce says, and then they both fall quiet for a while. Dick's breathing evens out a bit, and Tim's almost falling back asleep when Bruce says out of nowhere, "You know, you can talk to someone when that happens."

"I tried to talk to Wally," Dick admits. "But—Wally's stressed, too. And then he kept getting angry because I wasn't sleeping. It—It wasn't much help."

Brue lets out an exasperated breath. And when he speaks, he sounds fond in a way Tim hasn't heard very often, "I meant me, Dick. I was there that day, too. And you used to sneak into bed with me every time you had a nightmare."

"I'm not ten anymore," Dick says.

"So?"

Dick doesn't seem to have anything to say to that, but it gets Tim thinking. Thinking about how much Dick does and doesn't tell Tim and Jason and Damian. About how much he tries to hide from them all, including Bruce, apparently. About how much he's trying to shoulder on his own. And Tim thinks that maybe it wouldn't have gotten so bad if Dick had just opened up, like he tried to get his siblings to do whenever _they_ were feeling stressed or angry or sad.

It makes Tim wonder how stressed out Dick really is. How much of Dick that they don't see. How much Dick hides behind that mask of his.

And then Tim wonders if he could shoulder that much and still come out sane on the other side. Probably not, he thinks. It's already hard enough trying to do what he does now.

After a long time, Tim hears Dick murmur a small, "Thanks, Bruce."

And there's a smile in Bruce's voice when he says, "Go to sleep, Dick."

Tim wonders and he wonders, and he thinks that next time this happens, he's going to try to be on the lookout for it. Because Dick, his big brother, the one trying to hold up the sky for his family, doesn't deserve to be so unhappy and stressed. Next time, Tim's going to prevent it before it hits too hard.

Next time, he promises himself. Next time, _he'll_ be the one holding up the weight of the world for _Dick._


End file.
